


pasta

by rarmaster



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27277507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarmaster/pseuds/rarmaster
Summary: Malos makes pasta. Pyra makes a cake. They bond, a little.
Relationships: Alvis (Xenoblade Chronicles) & Hikari | Mythra & Homura | Pyra & Metsu | Malos, Homura | Pyra & Metsu | Malos
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	pasta

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nyxokal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxokal/gifts).



> Ruri pitched this to me as a joke and so thanks to them

Throw noodles in the pot, put the heat on medium, stir occasionally. Pasta. It’s not that hard, and Malos has made it enough times over the past few centuries he’s really not at risk of fucking it up. Kind of hard to burn water. Or noodles. Sure, they might end up soggy, but. Pasta’s pasta.

“Uh, Malos?”

Pyra’s voice from the doorway. Malos looks up.

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“What are _you_ doing?”

Pyra scowls. Malos raises his eyebrows at her, waiting for her answer.

“I was going to make a cake,” Pyra says. “So I’m… I mean I guess I don’t need the _whole_ kitchen, but…”

“The hell are you making a cake for?”

“Uh.” Pyra blinks at him, like she’s surprised for some reason. “It’s… our birthday?” she offers.

“Oh,” Malos says. He guesses it is. Rather than think about that, or the fact that he forgot it, he says: “So you’re making cake at 3am?”

“You’re making pasta at 3am.”

“Touché.”

The water pops. Malos stirs his noodles.

“Cakes for birthdays are overrated, though,” he tells Pyra, as she starts gathering things. “Maybe I should just make a metric fuckton of pasta instead. Be a nice change of pace.”

“If you want to make that much pasta, I’m not stopping you,” Pyra tells him. She hops up to try and drag a bowl down off the top shelf. Man, why are they storing that shit up there. “But you can’t stop me from making my cake.”

“Alright,” Malos says, because he’s not in the mood to be anything more than kind of obnoxious about this. He reaches over and pulls the bowl down for Pyra, then goes back to stirring his pasta.

“Also, if you’re going to make a metric fuckton of pasta, you might want a bigger pot,” Pyra teases.

“Ha ha,” Malos says, sarcastically. “Maybe this is for me. Maybe I’ll make more after. I mean, you’ve still got a whole cake to bake.”

“True.” Pyra starts doing cake related things. Malos doesn’t care enough to watch too closely. “You doing noodles plain or you going to make a sauce?”

“Wow, just criticize every choice I make huh? You doing chocolate cake or vanilla?”

“Red velvet.”

“Come on.”

“What!”

“Red velvet’s not even all that.”

“Oh, this is because I’m making fun of your pasta, isn’t it.”

“Yeah! Duh!”

“Fine. I won’t say any more.”

“Thank god.”

They cook in silence for a while, Pyra doing more cake related nonsense, while Malos stirs his noodles until they don’t need to be stirred anymore. Then he takes them off the burner and eats them right out of the pot because fuck it, leaning against the counter as he watches Pyra do more cake related nonsense. Man, that’s a lot of effort for a fucking cake. This is why Malos is never going to be a gourmet chef.

And then, someone else pokes their head into the kitchen.

“What are you two up to?” Mythra asks.

“None of your business,” Malos insists, right as Pyra says: “Making a cake.”

“At 3am?” Mythra asks.

“ _You’re_ also down here at 3am,” Pyra counters.

“Touché.”

Malos takes another bite of his noodles. Pyra continues cake nonsense.

“Soooooo,” Mythra says, “d’y’all need any help?”

“No,” Pyra says.

“Absolutely not,” Malos says.

“Oh come on,” Mythra says, “Surely I can—”

Malos puts his noodles down and steps towards Mythra. If he has to physically remove her, he will.

“Okay, okay! Geeze!”

Mythra makes a tactical retreat.

A spoon clatters behind Malos.

“Hm. Needs salt,” comes Alvis’ voice.

Malos whips around. His bastard older brother is _eating his noodles._

“Give me those!” Malos says, snatching them out of Alvis’ hands.

“Alvis—” Pyra says, but Alvis, unbothered, has already slid over to Pyra to steal a taste of her cake batter. “Hey!”

“Hm,” Alvis says, considering Pyra’s work. “Needs… Actually, no, this is fine. Don’t forget to preheat the oven, though.”

“I wasn’t going to forget,” Pyra insists.

Malos makes to physically remove Alvis from the kitchen, but Alvis laughs and makes his own hasty retreat. Furious, Malos slams the kitchen door shut and locks it. No more siblings fucking around in here! Geeze!

“I changed my mind, I’m only making pasta for me and you,” Malos says.

“Sounds fair,” Pyra agrees. And then: “…once you’re done eating those, and once I’ve got this in the oven, do you want to help me make the frosting?”

Malos blinks.

“Sure,” he says. And then: “What kind of sauce were you thinking for the pasta, anyway? Now I’m curious.”

If Pyra caught him smiling, she sure as hell wasn’t about to tell anybody.


End file.
